Moments: Decades
by Goose41
Summary: Divided into five small sections for the different decades of Oscar Vega's life. Mentions of other characters, but Angie shows up for sure. Note: Used a random word generator to give me one word prompts using the alphabet, A-Z.


**Moments: Decades**

Goose41

Category: Friendship (maybe more?) & Family (Angst?)

Pairing: Eventually gravitates towards Venn (Vega/Flynn)

Rating: K+/T

 **Disclaimer:** **The characters, and the premise upon which they are based, do not belong to me.**

 **Author's Note:** **This is more of a personal challenge than anything else. I used a random word generator to create a list of one word prompts using the alphabet, A-Z.**

 **Author's Note II: Each section is devoted to a moment in a particular decade during Oscar Vega's life. I took some liberties with some storylines, so there are mentions of different individuals during his life.  
** **I - Under 10 years old  
** **II - 10-20 years old  
** **III - 20-30 years old  
** **IV - 30-40 years old  
** **V - 40+ years old**

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I

The first time he finds it, he's far too young to really understand. Nine-year-old Oscar Vega hides in his father's darkened study, away from the unwanted attention of innumerable guests. Away from the tight cheek-pinches and the hair ruffles that are a bit too rough.

Sliding open the top desk drawer, he listens for the familiar crinkle of plastic wrappers; rooting around for penny candy. His father likes to sneak the treats to him when his mother isn't looking. Oscar pretends not to notice how her bright lips curl in a hidden smile when she scolds him, but he does. That's how he knows he's not really in trouble.

Curious fingers dig around carelessly, paper clips and pens strewn about in his wake. The candy is nowhere to be found, but his curious fingers keep digging. He spies the hardwood of his father's cigar box at back and slides it forward, tracing the swirls embedded in the grains of the cedar.

He thumbs the latch open to find a small bag peeking out from burial amidst rolls of tobacco. The fine powder within reminds him of the sugar he helps dust atop his mother's sweet Arrufadas. Pulling the pillow of white out from the shadows, he turns it over in his hand, debating whether or not to open it.

The call of his mother's voice startles him, and the reward from his search drops quickly. Thrusting the case back into the drawer with a slam, he pays no attention to reorganizing its contents before running off.

II

It's only a few short years later, but he now knows that the mysterious white powder has a name. Heroin. As a bitter and angry teenager, he's struggling to justify the death of his mother while his father continues to abuse narcotics. If anyone ever had the right to lose their faith...

With the service set to begin within the hour, the priest offers a sympathetic glance in Oscar's direction as subdued patrons enter through the front door. A need to escape, an urge to run away, rushes through him as the pews begin to overflow.

Oscar feels like he could drown in a sea of strangers. His father is the only familiar face, and he briefly wonders if he's in the right church. Unfortunately, the portrait adorning the coffin tells him the truth he can't deny. His mother is gone, and no amount of tears will bring her back.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he goes in search of his elusive father. He follows the sound of his father's voice down the corridor to a corner office. A litany of prayer falls from Franco's lips as he begs for God's favor upon his son. The elder Vega is hardly a role model, but the younger man knows his father wants to do right by him.

It isn't until years later that he will realize that these were just the first of empty promises.

III

His father wants him to join the firm; offers him a respectable position with a lucrative salary. Oscar briefly entertains the proposition, if only to make his wife happy. But money doesn't buy happiness.

The situation only worsens when he announces he's applying to the academy. Oscar knows it's over when she never even speaks about it. She's gone by the time he comes home from his first full day of training.

"Why are you doing this?" his father abruptly asks during brunch the following Sunday at the country club. His tone is tense, almost accusatory. _Where's your wife?_ _What about your life?_ The silent questions ring loud and clear.

"Not to turn you in, if that's what you're worried about."

Franco Vega has the decency to look half-ashamed, hiding behind a flute full of golden champagne. It's as close as the two men have ever come to acknowledging the older man's illicit behavior out loud, and his father knows better than to push the subject any further. "Your mother would be proud, you know."

Buried amidst the light chatter of the patrons around them, Oscar can barely pick out the sound of a soft apology. He isn't sure whether the offering is meant for his mother's absence or his father's transgressions, but he accepts it for both.

IV

Angie Flynn has been his partner for just a few months when their latest investigation takes them to Hollyburn Country Club. He can't help it; his eyes cut to the corner table where he sat with his father years ago.

"Thank you _so_ much for your time," his new partner tells the busboy. This is all part of the game of cat and mouse with her, he's decided; to lure suspects in with sympathetic smiles and bright eyes. And it works like a charm.

It's her hand at his elbow that draws his attention back to the eyes in question. "God, look at this place," she half-whispers. He knows the tone well, dancing somewhere between awe and disgust; it's one he's tried to avoid most of his life.

Crowding near him to let another waiter pass, Angie whistles low through pursed lips, humid air clipping his earlobe from her close proximity. Peppermint, cherry blossoms, a faint scent that is uniquely hers. Body tensing when she stumbles into him, his eyelids slam shut while her fingertips dig into his hip. It's as if she's the only thing in the room.

There's no sense in denying it. Full lips and wide hips, Angie Flynn is all woman, so his body's reaction is purely instinctual - isn't it?

V

"I don't think she likes me," Angie laments, gracefully spinning away from him and back again amidst a handful of other couples on the dance floor. A lighthearted jab about him learning to dance from Fred Astaire is replaced by genuine concern as Angie observes the "she" in question - his father's new wife.

"Angie," Oscar groans; her name resonating from the back of his throat in exaggerated exasperation. For someone who could supposedly care less about others' opinions of her, Angie Flynn is determined on winning the guest of honor's approval. "Does it really matter? You already outlasted the last one," he jokes about his father's most recent ex-wife.

His comment nearly causes her whiplash as she turns to face him. It may be in the way she frowns with a trace of uncertainty or the indignant glare, but Oscar's mind immediately creates a blonde-haired, hazel-eyed apparition right in front of him. No more than ten, the young girl seems eerily familiar.

"All I mean is...it's just that...this is important to you, so therefore, it's important to me," she responds, wrapping her arms tighter around his waist while bashfully tucking her chin into his collar. The buzz from the alcohol coursing through his veins, and its flush in his cheeks, pales in comparison to the warmth that radiates from her touch.

Leaning back just enough to catch her gaze, he waits patiently for her to eyes to meet his. " _You_ are important to me, Ang. All of this," he continues as a finger circles through the air, "means nothing." Drawing her in close once more, his soft smile ghosts across her temple when he feels the tension fall away.

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